


I'm So Human and Flawed

by mywonderworld



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, Dominant/Top Dean, Drunk Castiel, Fallen Castiel, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywonderworld/pseuds/mywonderworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling and becoming human, Cas turns to alcohol. But Dean can't let him turn into 2014!Cas, so he takes takes matters into his own hands...literally.<br/>Relatively long sex scene I guess, but this is my first time writing smut so be nice! (Cas is sober during sex, so it is NOT non con or dub con)<br/>Title and story inspired by All That You Are - Goo Goo Dolls: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkNaXdtKqKM<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm So Human and Flawed

Things are different now. Not completely, but just enough to throw Dean off. It's been three weeks since Sam nearly died trying to slam shut the gates of Hades. Three weeks since it rained bodies and feathers, since Cas became this graceless, zombie-fied sack of bones. Cas stays drunk. Every morning, he's up before everyone else popping open brown bottles, pouring whiskey into a glass, and sitting at the kitchen table in the filthy, stained T-shirt and jeans Dean had loaned him.  
  
He stays there a while, even after everyone has come in for morning grub, pushing each other out of the way for the last strip of bacon Dean cooked up. It's useless trying to get him to eat anything other than a burger or the pepperoni off a slice of pizza, so they take their plates to the library and leave him be. He'll sit there a bit, slumped over the glass in a daze, not even glancing up when someone comes in with dirty dishes or a meal. By noon, Cas is back to the spare bedroom, door closed, doing god knows what.  
It’s more than noticeable that he’s struggling with everyday tasks. He’s sneezed in Kevin’s face more than once already and learning to shut the door while he’s on the toilet is a particularly terrible mess. But Cas would probably rather spend two hours worrisome about his newfound aches and pains than to dare be a burden and inquire about them.    
  
He rarely even talks, just a quick "Yes", "No", or "Is there any Tylenol?" Or while they're out on the hunt for Crowley or Metatron, he'll put in his two cents. When he does speak, the words are mumbled slow, muffled, barely making their way past chapped lips and whiskey-tainted spit. They haven't talked about it. Dean made an effort once or twice, waking a bit earlier so he could talk to Cas alone without the interruption of Kevin or Sam busting in, but it was really no use. Cas would just sit there slumped, tipping the bottle back and staring into the wooden table as if the answer lay deep in the splinters. And all of this is out of place and disheveled. All Dean can think about is how things aren't as they should be. _Cas_ is not how he should be.

***

It's one a.m. and Dean walks into the bathroom and there's Cas, out cold in a messy pile of puke and sweat by the toilet. And Dean's had it.  
"Cas! Cas, damn it!" He runs over (thanking god he's not barefoot because the smell of barf is already enough for him) and pulls Cas upright leaning his head against the cold wall. There's vomit dripping off his lips and in his hair and on his fingers and he smells terrible. Too much of a reminder of a Cas he'd once seen in a year ahead of him. But shit, he can't think about that now.  
"Cas! Come on, man.", he says and lays a quick slap across one pale cheek. That always did Sam some good when he was passed out and fucked up on the floor those few times.  
Cas' eyes flutter open a bit, blue irises peeking out from behind dark eyelids, then they close again in one slow motion.  
"Hey! Cas!,” he shakes him by the shoulders, Castiel's head bobbling about, limp. Dean presses a thumb and index finger against a cold, left wrist. There's a pulse thudding away in there.  
 _Thank god,_ but still no sign of his ass waking up.  
"Fuck!" Plan B. He curls one arm under Cas' sweaty back, gets a grip under the backs of his knees and lifts him over into the tub, lowering him in gently with a hand behind his head. He turns the squeaky knobs and lets cold water spit out from above, immediately drenching the drunken mess sprawled out in the tub. Cas jolts awake, gasping for air under freezing drops that invade his mouth and nose. He sits up, dazed, moving his face out of the way of the spewing cold. He looks over with hooded eyes at the man standing outside the tub with crossed arms and a “You're in deep shit” frown.

"Cas, we need to talk." 

***  
The Men of Letters library is polar, but to Dean it's an icy heaven and a perfect temperature for sleep. Hell, he could peel his pants off right now and lie on this table and doze off but they have to have this conversation tonight. No jokes, no half-ass exchange about the troubles of knocking back one too many. This is real, and Dean's recollection of that strung-out, jaded man from the future is the fuel keeping his body up and running at 2:15 in the morning. That Cas from 2014 was something he never wanted him to become. He can't let it get that bad. He's kicked destiny in the ass once, he can do it again. He has to.  
  
Just when gravity is about to win the war against his eyelids, Cas half-stumbles in and falls into the seat across from him. Even in the dim yellowness of the lamplight, he can see after he'd left him in the bathroom, Cas had showered (his first one in a damn good while).The scent of cranberry shampoo and soap is delectation to his nose after being wafted with the smell of Jim Beam every day. That sweet smell isn't the only delight his senses are getting. Castiel's naked chest is still shining with tiny droplets that glisten white. In contrast, the smooth skin is surprisingly tan, despite being detained in three thick layers for so long. Dean watches a trickle fall down from his shoulder, drawing his attention to a tiny freckle by Cas' right nipple. 

_It's cute_ , he thinks. _He looks downright stunning._ But the beautiful image in front of him doesn't overshadow the fact that that statuesque body is tainted with a set of bloodless lips, weary eyes, and something else abyssal and damaged that Dean can't quite see.  
Dean finally breaks his long silence with a sharp throat-clearing.  
"Cas...," he says. "This has got to stop. You've got to talk to me, one way or the other." There's another pause hanging over them, giving Dean time to run his eyes over the distraction that is a half-naked Castiel.  
You make it so hard not to stare, he says to himself.  
"I don't know what you want me to say."

Dean's heart thuds at the sudden interruption in the form of a gravely whisper. It's the first sentence he's heard Cas say in so long, it's elation to his ears even if the hum of his voice is a bit wobbly.  
He leans up in his chair, trying to force Cas to look at him instead of the table.  
"Listen to me, man. What Metatron did was terrible, but --"  
"Dean, don't you understand? I did this." This time when he speaks, the words are hoarse. They scratch and pull their way out of his throat as he swallows back the lump in there, fighting back that newfound, dreaded feeling. He tilts his head up at Dean, showing him blue eyes already shimmering with salty moisture; emotions breaking through an already cracked levee.

"Though not intentional, this was my doing. I have completely obliterated heaven, Dean, and I have no way to redeem myself this time. Because of me, there is no heaven, there are no angels left out there. And because of that I deserve what I am doing to myself. I deserve to die, here. I mean just look at me. What am I now?"

Cas' bottom lip is trembling now and he's so ashamed of it, this humanistic facet. It leaves no room for a cover-up; he can now be read like an open book.  
He sinks his front teeth into the flesh and shifts his head away, so Dean can't see the pain written on the ripped pages of his face. Dean swallows back the ache in his own throat and watches Cas fall apart; Archives of sorrow parading themselves in the form of small sobs; libraries of ages unlocking their doors and letting out the dust.  
If anyone knows that deep ache of self-repugnance and fresh guilt, it's Dean. And though Cas' tears are brand new and only just awakening, he knows the power behind them. Consoling was never his forte' and fallen angels in particular, he's got no clue about. So it's like walking on foreign terrain when he circles the table and squats next to Cas, placing a palm on top of his head, smoothing the damp hair back. Cas turns away, holding a forearm up to cover his puffy face.

"Hey. Hey, man, listen to me." Dean stands back up and reaches for Cas' wrist, gently pulling a shaky arm from his face. He looks up at Dean now, his face so red and wet and puffy and his eyes glowing with something that looks like timidity and fear. He doesn't look half as wasted as he had an hour ago. In fact, he looks so innocent like this, it's almost not even Cas.  
  
"You do _not_ deserve to die." Dean says it slow and emphasized so maybe Cas will understand this time.  
  
"What happened, happened. I can't turn back time and fix what Metatron did. But you can bet your ass I'm gonna hunt down the son of a bitch, and I'm gonna get your grace back and your wings back and you are gonna be up and flyin' sky high, Cas. I can promise you that. But you gotta do this human thing the right way. No more drinking 'til you pass out or refusing to eat. Because I can't let you end up becoming what destiny says you have to become. You will _not_ end up like that. Not if I can help it." 

Dean realizes he'd been raising his voice and ah shit, are those tears forming in his own eyes now? He leans back casually against the table and huffs out hot air trying to recompose himself before he does something stupid like letting Cas see him cry once again. Cas may have seen Dean right down to the bone, but baring his chick-flick emotions to him is something he stays cautious about.  
  
"But what _is_ the right way to do this, Dean? I'm just so human...and flawed. Controlling hiccups has been particularly stressful, deciding which medication to take for which pain is beyond me. I can't even sleep correctly. First I'm hot, then I'm cold, then the pillow is too firm. Will this always be a problem?"  
Dean chuckles under his breath in response to the visual of Cas tossing and turning, lost in a heap of twisted blankets, jerking with uncontrollable hiccups.  
  
"It'll probably take you some practice. Then you'll be sleeping like a giant baby," Dean assures him. The mental picture of a half-naked Castiel sprawled out on chilled white sheets and out like a light reminds him that he himself is in dire need of rest. It also plays as a reminder that Cas is friggin' shirtless in front of him and his focus immediately turns to a tingle down below. And then as if reading Dean's mind, Cas looks up at him all doe-eyed.  
"Well could you help me sleep, Dean?"

***  
That's how they end up in Cas' bedroom, pulling back the tidily-enveloped bed covers and sheets. Dean grabs both large, white pillows and stacks one on top of the other, scrunching them up a bit so they're perfectly cushioned. He promptly steals a glance across the bed at Cas, who is watching the pillow-fluffing closely, to search for any hidden motive on his face. But damn if the fucker isn't just as adept at cloaking his mind as his was when he had his grace.  
With a clear of his throat, Dean pats the bed.  
"Alright, hop in there boy," he instructs, trying his damndest to make this less awkward for himself. Cas gives him a look before crawling under the comforter and pulling it up to his chin. Dean holds back a giggle at the way Cas is lying flat on his back, only visible from the mouth up.  
"You comfortable?," he asks. Cas nods.  
"Okay good." Dean crosses the room to shut off the light, kicks off his shoes and reluctantly creeps under the blankets. 

_What the_ hell _am I doing?_ He props himself up on a shaky left elbow to look at the stiff board that is Castiel.

"Close your eyes. Now just relax, Cas. You're not gonna get any sleep if you're all rigid and tense like that."  
Cas wiggles under the hump of puffy blankets and closes his eyes as does Dean; though he knows trying to catch some shut eye with Cas next to him is completely impractical. The simple awareness that he's in bed with another man, let alone Castiel is enough to make him run hot with embarrassment. But he can't deny the fact that the warmth of the body next to him feels _so good._ It'd be an understatement to say spending every single night alone has taken its toll.  
"Dean, don't you think you should scoot closer? I do know it's much easier to sleep if you have the comfort of another person close by." He listens for an unseen agenda in Cas' voice but once again, he's clueless.  
Normally Dean would've just feigned sleep. Maybe fake a slight snore or two. But then again, for him, there's nothing normal about this situation. After all who is he to give up an invitation like that? 

He hesitates a moment, then tensely scoots over, lifting his head off the firm mattress up onto the edge of the stack of pillows where Cas' damp head has left the pillowcase cool. It's even warmer over here, just an inch away from that sweet-smelling, heated skin.  
"Okay," his voice is shaking with anxiety. "Goodnight, Cas."

But instead of a reply or another demand, he hears soft sobs escape Cas' mouth. They're so hushed and muffled, but they're there and they rip their way out of Castiel's body with small shudders. A pang of sorrow hits Dean in his chest.  
As if blind-sided by his brain, he reaches over leisurely, placing a palm just below Cas' belly button and strokes slowly, like petting a child atop the head. 

"Shh, Shh. I know, I know." And he repeats this, hoping to god Cas can hear his hushed tone. His fingernails delicately scrape over the little hairs below his navel. It feels so foreign to his skin, feeling Cas in this way, but surprisingly to Dean, it doesn’t feel unnatural.  
He does this a while, spelling out invisible words and drawing unseen shapes onto the place just above Cas' waistband. With the thought that Cas might not even want this never fading from his mind, he stays wary. Any moment, he's expecting him to say something harsh, to reject his consoling hands and throw him out of the room. But he stays quiet, small cries beginning to fade. Dean feels ridiculously accomplished when eventually the only sounds Cas makes are periodic sniffles.

He grins a bit to himself, _Can't say I never did anything for him._  
  
His job is done, yet he can't pull back his hand and turn over. Not only is pure adrenaline clutching at his fingers, keeping them grounded, but so is Cas' left hand. He nudges lightly at Dean's palm with his index finger, forcing it lower toward the rim of his pajama pants. A spark of hesitation crosses Dean's mind, lingering for only a moment before he takes the obvious hint and jumps at his chance before cowardice grips either of them. He drags downward and slides his fingertips under the soft fabric and onto the patch of rough hairs. He pauses to listen for some sort of rejection, and is relieved when the only response he gets is in the form of another shove against his arm. Now he's positive about that nudge, and Dean is so nervous and wobbly and about to jump out of his skin, but it's a delicious fear and it feels _so_ right, _so_ entirely merited for the both of them, after all this shit. So, setting fear up on the shelf, he proceeds, without one damn second thought.  
  
Shifting upward, he finds Cas' face in the darkness and pulls himself up toward him, keeping his right hand down Cas' pants.  
"Come here," he murmurs. Cas obeys quickly, turning himself sideways, and is greeted with fleshy lips settling against his own. Cas kisses back, a needy hand already reaching up to fumble in Dean's hair. They both know this is what they need, and they've waited for it and now that they've sampled it, neither can remember why they've waited so long.  
Dean swipes a tongue past chapped lips to the taste of toothpaste and beer, while Cas tries to do the same, curling his tongue into Dean's mouth; exploring, learning, and mimicking. Dean slides naked muscle upwards, sweeping at the roof of the other’s mouth with a quick wiggle then pulling away to kiss and nip at the tasty flesh under his ear. Before he has time to savor the unalloyed taste of salt and bitter soap, Cas is squirming, ticklish.  
“Dean,” Cas jerks Dean’s face back to his.  
“Your neck ticklish, Cas?,” he snickers.  
Cas responds with an aggressive shove of his tongue past sparkling, shown teeth and lips curled upwards in a grin.  
Dean is so lost in malt spit, he almost forgets his hand is tucked away down below. He forces Cas onto his back again, and pushes the covers to the foot of the bed so he can sit on his knees, fitting himself in between Castiel's legs. From above, he can see all of Cas so perfectly; from that submissive, nervous pout on his face, to the quick rise and fall of his belly, all the way down to the outline of his already firming cock pushing away at thin fabric. And he looks so beautiful like this, even with that weary look hanging in his eyes that have no doubt, not acceded to more than a few hours’ sleep; even with his ribs jutting out a tiny bit like a bony hand wrapping his torso, it’s still beautiful. He'd almost call it cherubic.  
  
Dean leans down to plant close-mouthed kisses on his stomach and chest, moving over to lick that sweet little freckle that’s been calling his name. He nibbles a bit on the nipple too, hardening it a bit with every brush of teeth. He works his way up to Cas and kisses him tender and full of compassion, before he whispers into his open mouth.

"I'm gonna take your pants off, okay?" Cas nods. "I'm gonna make you better, don't worry, alright?" Dean does as he promised and wiggles Cas out of his pajamas, leaving his whole body prey to the cool air, breeding ground for coarse goose bumps. Dean dives down and teases, mumbling words of solace into Cas' thighs as tremoring hands find his hair again, pawing at the messy locks and tangling them up. He mouths his way up to the hipbones and kisses and licks, the fabric from his T-shirt sliding delicately over the fast-developing and sensitive hard-on. He looks up at Cas' face all anxious, his brow furrowed down over blue irises slowly being shadowed out by dark pupils. Cas' legs flutter, restless. He wants this so bad and Dean knows it, maybe even better than Cas does. And if he wasn't aware of it, he sure is now because as he runs his slippery tongue over a hipbone, he hears, "Dean, please."  
He smiles into the soft skin before rising up for a kiss.  
"Okay," he sighs into parted lips. Dean reaches down and wraps cool fingers loosely around the base of Cas' cock. He stutter-gasps into Dean's mouth as his fingers clutch a little at the sheets surrounding him. Dean sits up, never loosing gaze with blue eyes.  
"I want you to look right here, okay?,” he gestures to his eyes. "Look right at me, Cas. I'm gonna make you better."  
Cas submits and looks up.  
Dean gives a lazy stroke up then down first, sending twitches down Cas' legs; making him itchy under his skin, like little electric sparks running through his blood.  
  
"Just look at me and trust me when I say I'm gonna make you feel better," he assures him before quickly spitting on the head of Cas' dick and using his thumb to smear it around, letting it leak down, slicking up his palm. He gives another jerk, this time with a firmer grip and Cas jolts, arching his back off the mattress a bit. He repeats the creeping motion until finally, having gotten Cas comfortable with the feeling, he quickens the pace and unknowingly falls in rhythm with the uprising of Cas' pulse. Much to the delight of Dean, Cas lets a soft moan rumble from deep in his chest.  
  
"That's what I like to hear," Dean chuckles out as he wipes precome down the shaft, leaning down to lap up extra droplets off the tip, still holding his stare with yearning eyes. Cas' whole aching body is awakening after that lick, shoving itself at Dean's closed fist, every nerve on high alert. Each part of him wanting more, he breaks his gaze to look down at his red, leaking dick wrapped up in Dean's care.  
  
"Hey, let me see those baby blues," Dean softly urges. "I want you to trust me. Don't look down, just trust that I am gonna fix all that you are, alright?"  
Cas snaps his begging eyes back up.  
"I trust you, Dean," he grunts in between short breaths. And Dean's hand takes off, advancing in pace by the second. He jerks quickly but carefully, smiling at the sensation of more precome sliding over his fingers. Slippery wet sounds mix with the sounds of breath while Cas writhes in sheets and shiny sweat, his back arching toward the ceiling. And goddamn if it's not one of the most breathtaking things Dean's ever saw; watching this freshly crumbled man, who was once so dispassionate, being put together piece by piece with the flick of a wrist. And Cas, in all his body's chaos, is returning the stare; beaming at the man he once redeemed, who he's now relying on for something he's never needed before: comfort.  
  
Dean leans down once more to flick a speedy tongue against the slit, causing the hips underneath to lose themselves, heatedly bucking upwards. Cas is lost now, bending up into the pasty warmness.  
Just as Dean sits back up, Cas yelps out, "Dean, Dean, ah," as he releases a hot and sticky mess over his flushed chest. It's so strong, this rampageous eruption of bliss and hurt and _everything_ , he can barely choke out the sound.  
He collapses back, huffing out another deep, throaty moan and breaking the hold he had on Dean's eyes. Dean doesn't even notice because he's got other things planned and he's already so close to coming in his pants, it's painful. But, in the end, this is about Cas, and if he has to deal with some white-stained sweatpants and side glances from Sam in the laundry room tomorrow, then so be it.  
So he takes his time, planting his lips on Cas' sweaty forehead and stroking the stubbled jaw with his thumb.  
  
"That was the most amazing feeling. I can't even explain, Dean," he beams breathlessly.  
  
"I'm glad," Dean replies with another kiss. "I'm not finished with you, though. Spread your legs." And bless his fast-paced heart, they spread before he can finish the sentence. Dean looks around for something, anything, to slicken them up a bit more than saliva, but of course the room's bare. Taking a shot in the dark, (because hell Dean is just as new to this) he runs two fingers through the warm stripes of come settling on Cas' chest.  
“You know what I’m doing, right?,” Dean questions and to his surprise, Cas pulls his knees toward his belly and situates himself so his backside is exposed and ready for use. And if seeing Cas (AKA Mr. Vestal Virgin) open himself up that way isn't all manner of hot, he doesn't know what is.  
  
"Okay, this is probably gonna hurt a second, Cas. If you want me to stop, I will," he warns. Cas peers down between his legs, intrigued, as Dean takes digit number one and works in the tip. The muscles flex back a bit in rejection.  
  
"Does that feel okay?"  
"Yes, Dean. Just go," he pleads with enthusiasm.  
He gives it a little spit and works his index finger in further and wiggles it a bit, feeling around inside. Cas makes a puny sound, almost inaudible, but _damn_ it sounds so sweet. Dean has to hear more...right now. Without warning, he plunges in the finger's entirety, coaxing a loud “Ah!” out of his virgin. He looks up at a scrunched brow, verifying that it's okay to keep going. Cas nods all eager and impatient.  
  
Dean continues, massaging Cas' insides with his finger, tickling the small, warm space making Cas throw himself back down against the pillows and take grip of his thighs.  
"Oh, you like that?", Dean asks playfully. The only reply he's given is a blatant sigh and he doesn't need much more than that to know the answer is yes. He wags it back and forth once again before pressing in the second finger. This one's harder to get in, but not impossible. Cas leans into it, shoving Dean's fingers further into himself with a gasp.  
  
"Need more spit?,” he asks caringly. Cas nods in response and Dean spits again, letting it glide over the tight, reddening hole and around the uncovered parts of his fingers.  
When he feels Cas' muscles ease, he pushes in and pulls back, snail-like and careful, his ears picking up a small moan already. But when Dean curves his tightly-bound fingers at an angle and wiggles ever so slightly, Cas' limbs seize and a harsh moan escapes him and rips through silence. They both know it can easily be heard in the other rooms but right now Dean couldn't fucking care less because watching Cas writhe and sweat and cry out, all for him to see and hear and taste, has him so heated, he can't bear it. To the annoyance of his partner, he quickly yet delicately yanks his fingers out, leaving Cas squirming and irritated; his pink hole flexing, hungry.  
  
"Hang on," Dean whispers, impatient, as his fumbling fingers rip down his pajama bottoms, letting them rest at his knees. From between the slit at the front of his boxer briefs, he slips out his dick, flushed and ready and dripping with precome.  
"What do you need me to do, Dean? I'll do whatever you like," Cas beams, practically throwing himself upright, ready to eagerly assist.  
"Just lay back."  
So he does, obediently bending then spreading his legs just as they were and leaning up slightly to watch. Thankfully, the come on Cas' tummy and chest is still nice and wet. Dean wipes a palm through it and reaches under Cas, rubbing him down good. He grabs his rock-hard cock and gives it a wipe-down too, adding a little saliva for an extra slick, thinking of what the hell they would've done without God-given spit. Lining himself up with Cas' glistening, exposed ass, he glances up to a glowing face.  
"Um…if you need me to pull out or anything just tell me and I'll stop, alright? This is for you, Cas, not for me," he states, a bit anxiously. Cas gives him a grin with shining eyes.  
  
"I'm ready," he assures, wrapping a hand around Dean's forearm, bracing himself.  
Leaving no time for second thoughts, Dean presses in, the very tip entering into the beginning of a warm, slippery constriction of muscle. The bottom throws his head back against the pillow, mouth dropping open at the sudden entrance.  
“You okay?” A hand reaches up brushing Cas’ sweaty hair back. “Does that feel okay?,” Dean asks, worriedly.   
“Just get further inside me.” Cas grunts.  
Dean works in deeper, gently and inch by inch, still brushing Cas’ hair away with his free hand. Cas scrunches up his face and nips at his bottom lip with every movement down below, the little vein in his reddened forehead showing itself prominently. He flinches once more at a final push as Dean eases the whole fullness of his dick into him.  
  
“Ah! De--,” he cries through clenched down teeth.  
Seeing Cas in evident distress is almost a deal-breaker for Dean. He’s almost about to call it quits, turn around, go jack off in the bathroom and forget this ever happened. Because even now, as he does what he does best; as he tries his damndest at making things right for Cas, he’s fucking up, causing pain. What the fuck is he even doing? Who is he to think his body, already torn and broken itself, could help heal and somehow piece together what’s left of an angel? How dare he think that he’d be worthy enough of this job. How could he ever think he is deserving of this?  
“Cas, I…”, he stutters out.  
“Dean,” Cas looks up at him, capturing his tired green eyes. He grips him by the chin, stroking his thumb across the jaw.  
“I want this,” he whispers assuredly, and pulls Dean downward, letting his lips fall across his open mouth. And that’s all Dean needed. He sits back up on bended knees and takes grasp at Cas’ hips as a hand travels to grip his forearm.  
He pulls back once and rolls his hips forward with ease, letting the heat sink into every nerve of his crotch. He coaxes a solid moan out of Cas with his second slow thrust, feeling the fingers around his arm clench, and legs wrap around his lower half, almost begging for a little more.  
  
“Is that good?” he asks, already knowing the answer.  
“Mhm,” he hears. Dean sinks in again, harder this time. The force sends Cas into a quiver, rumbling up in his insides, and flowing out his mouth in the form of a long, delicate moan.  
The feel of his dick slipping against wet, hot muscle is _so unbelievable_ ; his thighs are quivering and begging him to thrust harder and faster. But he takes his sweet time, being indulgent as possible in Castiel’s body, protecting and preserving what’s left. He massages the hips he’s grasping tightly, rolling his thumbs over the sharp bones there with every push inside.  
Cas has his head laid back, and his squinted eyes are barely visible under his sweaty, furrowed brow. A huff of breath falls from his open mouth with every pump of Dean’s cock. One hand squeezes down on a forearm while the other stretches to reach Dean’s ass, digging his nails into tight muscle through the soft fabric of his boxers.  
  
“I just wanna make you feel better, Cas.” The words start spilling like a fountain in between every rush of breath. “Just let me be your medicine.” He dares to stop for a moment, and shifts his weight, so when he pushes in this time, it hits Cas right where he wants it. 

“Ah! Dean!,” he yelps. His body jolts upward with pangs of pleasure and he sinks his front teeth down hard into his bottom lip.  
“Did I hit that sweet spot for you?,” Dean grins. He picks up the pace, and Cas begins lurching his lower half into the quick in-and-out motion.  
He stares, eyes wide and thirsty, at Castiel’s face scrunched up in a pleasured scowl. 

“You’re loving it aren’t you? Does that feel nice, Cas?,” he asks. When Cas responds by yelling out his name, Dean fucks him harder, ramming over and over into the gorgeous little area that makes Cas thrash.  
“You’re still an angel. I see it right now. I see it in your face,” he says soothingly, breathless. He’s plowing into him and Cas is hanging on tight, legs clutched snug around Dean’s waist, arms clinging at him. It feels so perfect. It feels _right_ , no matter how much Dean knows he doesn’t deserve this ecstasy, he can’t deny that right here is where he wants to be. And he’d lied when he said this was all for Cas, because it isn’t. This heated, wet friction; this melding of bodies and pain, he needs it just as much. After all the misfortune they’ve dealt with and the lasting ache it has left inside him, his deficiency for this closeness has been eating him to his core and no longer can he forsake his equal need for this.

“You’re still the same,” he moans out. ”…still Castiel.” Cas starts whimpering underneath him and it’s music to his ears. An aphrodisiac in the form of high-pitched whines, it’s got his balls tightening and heating up.  
“Ah, damn it, Cas. Mmm.” Everything is rocketing inside him and he can feel it, burning hot and heavy and creeping up his cock. He lays his hands across Cas’ quivering tummy as he comes with quaking hips. That hot, sticky liquid fills up in there while Dean tips his head back, mouth ajar but still holding in sounds. 

Unsure of what to do, Cas reaches up to Dean’s face with open palms and takes it in his hands, whispering soothingly, “Is that good, Dean?”  
Not until then, does Dean realize he’s waited for this. He’s waited so long for that moment of climax. He’s waited all this time, maybe his entire life, for Cas to touch his face like this, with his fingers grazing the tops of his ears, calloused thumb stoking his cheek and questioning whether he was pleasurable.

Dean croaks out Cas’ name to the ceiling before his muscles give and he falls, sweat-ridden chest adhering to Cas’ equally sticky skin. He lays there breathing heavily into Cas’ neck for a while (thankful Cas isn’t ruining his euphoria with a bout of ticklishness), comfortable with his cock still swimming in a tight warmth. He hears a soft yawn and Cas’ breath winding down and knows he’s done what he’d set out to do.  
The smell of Cas, even sweaty, and the tickle of a hand stroking underneath his shirt is lulling his eyes shut already. Of course there’s the thought that Kevin or Sam may walk in with the sunrise to find him still resting inside a slick paradise, but right now he wants to enjoy this heaven and this angel he has somewhat restored and pasted together with his own body. He relishes in the only repayment he can give for all that has come from Castiel.  
As Dean’s eyes fall victim to weariness, Cas presses his sleepy lips against his ear.

“Angel or not…I hope you’ll still need me, Dean.”  
He lets a smile grace his face and nuzzles his nose down in to the crevice under Cas’ jaw.  
“I still need you, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> While writing this I kept in mind that Castiel has been around for thousands of years and knows much about being human already and I understand that he does not need to be taught everything about humanity and the basics of humans. But as we have seen from his choice of language, fascination with certain TV shows, (porn included) and from his recent shopping trip (though his enchantment of cracking the egg and watching it fall was a bit OOC imo) he does have a rough time with learning about humanity in today's world. All of the human things I mentioned that Cas finds problematic are just presumptions on what I think he might have trouble with in season 9. I hope nobody reading assumed I tried to write Cas as a helpless child because that is not what I aimed to do :)


End file.
